


baby baby, close your eyes

by goodluckrebellion



Series: back into your endless dreams [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Sad Handjob, Angst, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Not Beta Read, and this is the first handjob ive ever written, dont know anyone who wants to read a sad handjob, i promise i have never felt more unaroused, set between episodes 3 and 4, the angstiest handjob ive ever written, the porn isnt even good, wow this got angsty oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodluckrebellion/pseuds/goodluckrebellion
Summary: Yuuri's room is bathed in soft light, and he thinks he's only just woken up. But he's not entirely sure.





	baby baby, close your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> ive had a (un)reasonable amount of alcohol n wrote this in one sitting, kind to just prove a point to myself and bcos, why the hell not. never ever written like this before... so it wont be that good. sorry my dudes. i still love yoi just as much as the rest of you lads tho, ily all x 
> 
> ANYWAY this is set after ep 3 before 4. sorry for this mess. wow

Pale amber light filtered through the curtains in fine rays, softly illuminating the room - Yuuri’s room. Yuuri’s childhood, well-used and familiar room, littered with his personal effects and with loose clothing strewn across the floor.

His mind was somehow in a daze, muggy and unclear like most mornings, but this time he was unable to tell what time of day it was, or even what day it was. He might have been sleeping, though he isn’t sure, somehow. All he knows that is that he's in bed. From the yellow-tinted light through the curtains it seemed like it was early evening, but surely he hadn’t slept through the entire day with no disturbances. Either his mother would knock on the door to ask if he wanted breakfast, or Viktor would barge in, to say something along the lines of, “Yuuri!” naturally elongating the ‘u’, of course, “Your Short Program isn’t going to perfect itself!”

Viktor…

Yuuri’s eyes travelled to a loose fleck of sellotape on the wall, marking the corner of where one of many, many posters of a certain figure skater used to be. To him, his shameful collection not only symbolised his admiration towards Viktor, but a horrific amalgamation of teenage obsession and thirst. Sure, a healthy collection of various handsome male figure skaters of the time would be 16-year-old Yuuri simply exercising his taste for men, but if it was just one person… Well. 

If Viktor saw his arsenal of Viktor-related paraphernalia, he would surely be unable to laugh it off. He couldn’t imagine Viktor laughing it off awkwardly with a strange smile, saying “Haha, Yuuri. I knew you were a fan, but not to this extent!”, not at all. He’d look down at Yuuri in cold, silent disgust with those lovely blue eyes, a look that’d say nothing but “I know your teenage self has gotten off to the thought of me at least once. No, not once. Many times. Possibly every time you get your sick self off. I know it. And this one fact has made me lose all respect in you not just as a person, but also a skater.”

If he can’t display and enjoy it, he may as well get rid of it. The idea of Viktor finding his hard-earned collection terrifies Yuuri, but at the same time he can’t get rid of them. A very sizeable fraction of money he’s ever owned has gone into obtaining those, especially the nicer prints. His favourite prints shifted as his tastes shifted as he got older; 15-year-old Yuuri loved nothing more than the dangerously pretty Viktor in that black, glittery costume with the half-skirt (that he now wears... younger Yuuri would die there and then if you could tell him), but then moved onto the Viktor smiling softly with his beloved dog, and his beautiful, long, silvery hair which he always dreamed about plaiting and combing his fingers through, and then…

 Four small bits of sticky tape look back at him from the wall, like the chalk outline of a crime scene.

… He should probably get his life together, Yuuri thought. He still had no idea what day it is, or what time it is, but to get out of bed seemed to be what a functional and successful figure skater should do. So he did just that - sat up to swing his legs off his bed, his body feeling far more heavy and sluggish than usual, and -

 _“Yuuri.”_  

Yuuri snapped his head to where the drawling, Russian-sounding, no, _Viktor_ -sounding voice calling his name came from behind him. From his bed.

“Where are you going, Yuuri?”

The sight of Viktor, his beloved Viktor, the Viktor Nikiforov he so much adores and worshipped, somewhat dishevelled in a just-awoken state, in his bed, did a number on Yuuri’s heart. His silver, silken hair dishevelled and messy, and his half-open blue eyes looking at him through pale eyelashes. “Viktor, what are you…?”

What on earth was he doing in his bed? How on earth did he get into his bed? What lead up to this moment to get Viktor into his bed? He has no recollection drinking, and his head lacks the distinctive throb that comes with a long night of it, just still very hazy. While Yuuri’s head spun with all sorts of questions, Viktor only breathed out a short and small laugh, to circle Yuuri’s waist to pull him into a hug.

Yuuri was sat upright, his back flush against Viktor’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Viktor’s arms were still curled around his waist and Yuuri was painfully aware of it - the sudden hand on his arm during his victory for _Onsen on Ice_ could’ve well caused him a heart aneurysm, so this…

“It’s still early. Let’s stay like this for a bit?”

With Viktor’s breath ghosting on the shell of his ear, Yuuri nodded silently. He would probably do a lot of things if Viktor told him to do it. If Viktor told him mid-practice to get down on the ice on his knees and kiss Viktor’s skates, he would do it. Unfortunately, he’d gladly do it, and definitely revel in it. He’d be blessed to have his mouth anywhere near Viktor’s skates, which have skated so many beautiful programs, the source of his own passion for skating, and the skating he strives to achieve…

Yuuri swallowed, inhaled quickly and then exhaled slowly, trying to focus his mind on something that was unrelated to what was currently happening. Where his body met with the other man’s was starting to feel very warm, and the sole stripe on his sweatpants suddenly became very interesting. While admiring how the fabric folds, he tried to fathom the mystery of Viktor appearing in his bed. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?”

Viktor’s pleasant-sounding voice just had to be murmured right next to his ear, hadn’t it. Yuuri’s current emotions were in a jumble, currently a fine blend of ecstasy and distress. He squeezed his eyes shut, and mumbled back a breathy “Yeah, it’s nice,” while attempting to regulate his heart rate and breathing. He savoured the feeling of having Viktor around him, warm and just _present_. 

His eyes only snapped open when Viktor’s hand moved to rest on his thigh, and slowly travelled up his leg. “Viktor,” Yuuri breathed, panicked as it moved up further. “Viktor?” 

A large part of him thought it was just his coach being overly affectionate and touchy, which he didn’t mind at all, of course… But this seemed like a step further. Just a step. To him, it required some form of explanation, however nonsensical it may seem to him. He expected “Well, as your coach I thought I should…” followed by some kind of figure-skating training-related jargon, or “Your legs have lost fat, they’re far slimmer.” or - 

His beloved coach and idol only asked him tenderly “No? Should I stop?”

 _God, please don’t stop,_ was the first thing that came to his mind, and he hated it.

Yuuri looked down, to find the stripe on this sweatpants, the one anchor on reality that he had; the one thing grounding him in his bizarre situation. He reasoned that if he can focus on one constant, he could sort out this chaotic situation -

Only to find that his sweatpants had changed completely. He was wearing a completely different pair to the one with the stripe on it. _Huh_. He blinked, only to find that they’d changed colour this time. 

 _Ah,_ Yuuri finally realised. _I’m dreaming._

It made sense. The weird cloudiness in his head that wouldn’t go away, the strange lighting in his room, and the lone stripe abandoning his sweatpants. And there was also no circumstance in the real world where Viktor would be in his bed, holding him close, caressing his thigh, and whispering to him in that gorgeous voice of his. Not now, and never in a million years.

But if he was dreaming, he could do anything with no consequences, right?

He exhales shakily.

The Viktor in his dreams would be just as fleeting as the one in reality, the same Viktor in his mind. He probably couldn’t just straddle this Viktor and beg to be taken apart or… the other way around. Would the real Viktor be into that? Depraved thoughts aside, he doesn’t want this Viktor to disappear any time soon, just like the Viktor outside of his dreams. He should try and act as… Normally as possible. If this situation could be classed as “normal”. He didn't want to ruin this opportunity.

As soon as Viktor started tracing his hand up his inner leg, Yuuri could feel himself getting harder. The fact that Viktor was in close proximity didn’t help either, hearing and feeling him breathe, and his body moving under his.

“Yuuri?” 

“Yeah?” Yuuri’s voice sounded a lot more breathy than he wanted it to be. Viktor’s hand is still stationary, resting on his thigh.

“Would you like me to stop?”

Sucked into his own internal monologue, he’d forgotten to reply. He loves and hates how kind the Viktor in his dreams was. “Please don’t stop,” he sighed, “Please, please don’t.”

“Good,” Yuuri felt him smile into the crook of his neck, “I love seeing you like this.”

Yuuri wants to thank the part of his subconscious that allowed him to portray Viktor as this indecent being who loves to see him flustered and out of breath. Maybe this Viktor, the Viktor in this dream, would enjoy hearing how Yuuri selfishly wants every part of Viktor to himself? Or how Yuuri had touched himself in the past, over and over, imagining situations just like this one. Viktor gently started to palm Yuuri’s length through his trousers, drawing out a quiet moan. He quickly tried to cover his mouth with his hand, until Viktor stopped it with his free hand. “Don’t hold back? I want to hear you…” 

Of course, Yuuri couldn’t deny a request from him, dream or not, so he let himself breathe out a little harder than before. Viktor caressed the inside of his wrist in a comforting manner.

When Viktor took out Yuuri’s cock out of from his trousers and underwear, he absolutely started to come apart, mentally and physically. He fisted the sheets of the bed as the head was stroked by the other man’s thumb. ‘V-Viktor,” He started, steadily and shakily.

“What is it, Yuuri?” His hand circled Yuuri’s cock and gave it a few slow pumps. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Yuuri…” 

Viktor’s other hand stroked Yuuri’s knuckles, white from tension. He slowly opened his hand, letting the folds of the sheets spread out. He very slowly and tentatively laced their fingers together.

Every inch of his skin was burning, especially where Viktor was touching it; on his hand, on his dick and where Viktor’s chest met with his back. Something inside him was red-hot, and that had always ached for something like this. This whole almost-lucid dream was more real than any fantasy he’d come up with in the same bed they’re both in. He felt euphoric, he’d never experienced pure sexual pleasure in this way before, but a whisper inside of his consciousness wished that it was his Viktor that was making him feel this way. He wished it was his Viktor he was holding hands with, right now. This Viktor, the Viktor in his dream and impure fantasies, only continued tenderly in his ear, “I won’t know until you tell me.”

 _It’s just a dream_ , he old himself. _Think of this as some form of fucked-up self-therapy_. _Your self-conscious probably knows you needed this. Probably._

“Viktor, I think love you.” He admitted, numbly. He was still holding his hand.

“What do you love, Yuuri?” Viktor mouths hotly against his neck. “What do you love about me?” 

“I love you on and off the ice. You're amazing…” He breathed slowly. In and out. “I loved, no… I still love your skating. I was completely obsessed, but now I know you in person, I know so much more about you and I… I can’t help but like you more and I-” 

Viktor’s hand moved faster, and Yuuri felt like a tight wire being unfurled.

"When you laugh and talk while you're eating with your mouth full," He gasped, breathlessly, "The way you try to slip in Japanese phrases into conversation that isn't even relevant, but you do it anyway, and-" A shaky breath escaped his lips, "The look on your face when you're completely in thought, and when you touch your lips with your finger..."

He could still feel Viktor's breath on his ear, and his heart ached even more. Yuuri held Viktor's hand a bit tighter.

“And I love how- how kind you are to me, even though I’m just a fan and your… student,“ He felt tears welling up in the corner of his eyes, “You’re so good to me, and I don’t deserve it,” his vision got cloudier, "I'm just a dime in a dozen skater, I came last in the Grand Prix Final, and I..." _I'm useless and awful_ , he wants to finish. "...I wish I meant something more to you, Viktor. I really do.”

Behind all the sick sexual fantasies that Viktor had been a victim of, lies the worst fantasy of them all. The daydreams of Viktor holding his hand on the beach, or being taken out to a restaurant with just the two of them, the thought of sleeping next to him in bed, and feeling his warmth in the covers. The most innocent of fantasies that lead to one desire.

"I wish you'd fall in love with me, Viktor..." Yuuri murmured, feeling something wet falling down his cheeks. "Fall in love with me, just like I have with you."

The pressure inside of him finally builds up, and he comes hard with a sob, all over Viktor’s pale hands. Even dream Viktor has neatly kept nails, Yuuri dully noted. He wanted this fake Viktor to gently console him, and to tell him that no, Yuuri meant something far more to him, or to just tell him something, anything…

Instead, he gets a kiss, placed softly on his neck. Yuuri exhaled with a bitter grin. Of course. At this point, he’s being selfish. He got to experience the handjob of a lifetime (albeit in a dream) from his long-time crush and first love (and maybe at this point, last love), and he wants to be comforted? His eyes slipped shut, and he began to think how truly, truly pathetic he is. Your idol flies over across the world to coach you, and the best you can do is masturbate to him, and wish he’ll notice your foolish teenage feelings…? Even in fake-Viktor’s arms, he realises he can still faintly smell his expensive cologne, and slips into unconsciousness.

Yuuri eventually wakes up to a dark room, with wet cheeks and sticky clothes. He laughs painfully, slides out of bed, and slips on his glasses.

**Author's Note:**

> havent done creative writing since back in gcse english (which was 5+ years ago wew), hope ur proud of me mrs harvey, this ones for u xoxox
> 
> sorry in advance for all the mistakes <3 <3 and i just realised that i sound really hard on my boy yuuri.... hes the best i love him i promise!!
> 
> edit 02/05/17 ummmmm i got drunk again and sober me provided some feedback so im here to edit a bit.... ty for everyone who kudos-ed! im love u <3 <3 <3 call me yeah?? im single??? (im kidding) (kind of) 
> 
> also lol imagine giving someone a cheeky hj and they start proper monologuing on you im giggling


End file.
